


If We See Each Other

by moonshoespotterr



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Muggle, Bodyswap, Fluff, Inspired by Kimi no Na wa. | Your Name., M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:14:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27310270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonshoespotterr/pseuds/moonshoespotterr
Summary: Draco is bored of his life, so it's perfect luck really that one day he wakes up in someone else's. Someone with attrocious hair, scruffy clothes and terrible glasses. Again. And again. And again.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 14
Kudos: 95





	If We See Each Other

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the amazing anime film, Your Name.
> 
> "But one thing is certain. If we see each other, we'll know. That you were the one who was inside me. That I was the one who was inside you." - Mitsuha, Your Name.

Draco tapped his pen against the desk. His Latin professor droned on in the background - something about subjunctives, Draco thought – but his mind was miles away from the dusty, old classroom. It was swirling around bright lights, loud noises and endless crowds of people who didn’t know his name, didn’t know his family, didn’t expect anything of him.

He was so completely, inescapably bored of his life. Draco had grown up in a picturesque Wiltshire village and his only change of scenery since had been moving to his boarding school in yet another picturesque Wiltshire village. Which was where he was now, determinedly paying no attention to the wheezing voice of his professor and instead imagining he was someone else.

Draco had been told from an early age that he was lucky, privileged, and should feel honoured to come from such a long and illustrious line as the house of Malfoy. His line stretched all the way back to the first Marquess of Winchester, his father liked to remind him when Draco showed any hint of resistance to the plans that had been laid out before him since birth. He was to attend Avebury Academy for Lords and Ladies - check. He was to study Philosophy, Politics and Economics at the University of Oxford, one of the good colleges, you understand. He was to return to Wiltshire to take over the running of their estate from his father. No, thank you. He was to marry a respectable lady befitting of his station and heritage. Double no, thank you.

Draco sighed. Just another way he was going to let his parents down. He thought they might get over him not wanting to follow in his father’s footsteps, and _his_ father’s, and _**his**_ father’s. _Eventually_. Probably after years of nagging and gibing and digging, but it would be worth it if it meant that Draco could leave this godforsaken place. But it was the other thing that turned Draco’s stomach into a nest of butterflies. The I’m-not-going-to-marry-a-respectable-lady-befitting-of-my-station-and-heritage thing.

He glanced over to his right towards his oldest friend. How much easier his life would be if he could just marry Pansy, Draco thought. She was attractive, he could admit, with short, dark hair cut into a bob that offset her round face and slightly pug-like nose. She came from a “good family” and her parents had been friends with Draco’s mother and father for years. They’d surely declare it an excellent match and congratulate themselves on securing the next generation of horse-riding, tweed-wearing, boarding-schooled (and potentially inbred) progeny.

But, and here was Draco’s issue, he did not want to marry Pansy. Nor did he want to marry any girl for that sake. There were many things he would do for his parents. He could be the perfect horse-riding, tweed-wearing, boarding-schooled (and potentially inbred) son, but there was a line Draco would not cross. The very thought of squashing down this part of him, a part revealed only to Pansy after they’d consumed rather too much of a smuggled bottle of vodka, a part he knew would disgust his parents and alienate him to his peers, made him feel physically sick.

These thoughts flitted through Draco’s mind as he imagined a different life for himself. A life where he could escape his parents’ judgements and truly be himself.

/H/D/H/D/

Harry sighed with relief as the last customers exited through the double doors. Ron locked the doors behind them and shot Harry a sympathetic grin. The evening had been manic with the entire staff run off their feet as the restaurant had filled up more and more until they were turning people away at the door.

“Bloody hell,” Ron exclaimed, slumping down onto an abandoned booth. “What a night. I think my blisters have blisters.”

Harry snorted as Ron collapsed backwards.

Cho bustled behind the bar. “It’ll be an even longer night if you two don’t start cleaning up,” she reprimanded lightly.

“Come on,” Harry said, pulling a resistant Ron to his feet and making a start on his section of tables.

Cho had been the one to give Harry a chance when he stumbled into Ristorante Gustami almost a year ago asking for a job. He hadn’t been able to stand one more second living with the Dursleys and had run off to London as soon as he was old enough to work. Even though she was only a year older than him, she had taken Harry under her wing and was as good a manager as he could imagine. It was why he couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable when, walking home later that night, Cho came up as a topic of conversation.

“Hey, you guys see Cho tonight?” Seamus asked with an eyebrow wiggle.

Dean grinned in response. “How does she think we’re supposed to work when she’s there swanning around in _that_?”

Harry frowned. What had Cho been wearing tonight? He couldn’t remember. Harry considered asking his friends what they were talking about but held his tongue. The last time he had questioned one of their jokes he had received some very strange looks indeed.

“Tell me about it,” Ron agreed. “I swear her skirt is getting shorter every week! If it wasn’t for Hermione, I’d have asked her out ages ago.”

Seamus smirked. “As if you’d ever have the balls to ask her out!”

“And as if she’d ever say yes!” Dean chipped in. “Anyway, we all know that Harry’s her favourite.”

“Yeah, Harry,” Seamus leaned around Dean to look at him. “How’d you wrangle that one?”

Harry blushed and stammered, “I…er…it’s not like…er…she doesn’t…”

Taking pity on Harry, Ron jumped in. “She probably took one look at your ugly mugs and went running to find someone who didn’t smell like they’d showered in cheap aftershave. Unfortunately, I wasn’t there at the time, so Harry was the next best thing!”

The three of them dissolved into laughter and laddish insults as Harry pondered to himself why, yet again, he found himself unable to join in.

/H/D/H/D/

A deafening noise startled Draco awake. His pale hand automatically shot out from under the duvet to snooze the alarm, pausing in confusion when it failed to find his clock and instead encountered a battered mobile phone. Draco’s brow furrowed, still sluggish from sleep. He opened his eyes warily and blinked, startled, around him. This wasn’t his bedroom.

His bedroom at Avebury Academy was gaudy in a way most people would have found impressive, but which made Draco’s skin crawl. With its wood-panelled walls, four poster bed, and opulence dripping from every nook and cranny, it represented all the tradition and heritage he wanted to escape.

The room he currently gawped at was nothing like that. The single bed was tucked away in a corner, leaving room for a scuffed wardrobe and side table. Clothes were strewn haphazardly around the room and worn, threadbare curtains waved softly in a breeze that brought in sounds of traffic from outside.

Cautiously, Draco stood up to take a better look at his surroundings and jumped in shock when he realised something else. Those were not his legs. Those were not his arms or hands or feet or-

He hurriedly searched for a mirror amongst the battered furniture. Finding one in the corner of the room, Draco edged towards it and gasped. The face staring back looked to be a similar age to Draco, but with skin the colour of honey, deep green eyes that were wide in shock and a mess of thick black hair, it was decidedly not his.

“What the fuck?” Draco whispered as he examined the face in more detail. He poked and prodded and pinched himself a few times, but the face that was not his remained staring back in horror. Draco’s stomach clenched in panic.

He jumped as the discarded mobile phone came to life again from the side table. He picked it up and, cancelling the alarm with a flick of his finger, turned the mobile over in his hand. It was a far cry from the newest model smart phone Draco’s parents had bought him for his seventeenth birthday, he thought, but might be his best chance of figuring out where the hell he was.

The home screen gave nothing away – no smiling photo of friends or family to give Draco any hint of who’s body he was currently inhabiting. Just a long string of unread messages discussing the merits of some poor girl’s tits versus her arse. Draco rolled his eyes.

“Harry!” Draco dropped the phone as a loud voice shouted from outside the room. Harry? Was that him?

“Hey, Harry! Are you up yet?” This was accompanied by a thundering bang on the door.

Draco steeled himself, tempted to hide in the relative safety of the room until whatever was happening to him stopped happening. But then you’ll never find out what’s going on, another part of him whispered conspiratorially as the oaf outside continued to hammer the door. Draco’s curiosity got the better of him. He held his breath as he cracked open the door and peered into the hallway beyond.

The oaf happened to be a large boy with flame-red hair and more freckles than Draco had a desire to count, who stood in the hallway with his hand raised and ready to pound another deafening blow into the door.

“Hey, mate. What took you so long?” The ginger oaf grinned at him. “Did you forget we have our shift in an hour?”

“Err…” Draco struggled. “No, of course I didn’t forget. I was just, err... getting ready.”

The other boy shrugged. “Ok. Can’t have you being late, even if you are Cho’s favourite,” he winked. “Oh, Hermione’s making toast. Best hurry up before it’s all gone,” he finished before galumphing down the hallway.

Closing the door, Draco slumped against the wall and considered his situation. He was in an unknown place, in an unknown body, with unknown people, apparently about to start a shift at an unknown job. He took a deep breath. I can do this, Draco thought. He was a great actor. After all, he’d successfully convinced his parents that he was straight. Draco smirked. This would be a piece of cake next to that.

/H/D/H/D/

Working in a restaurant, as it turned out, was not a piece of cake (ironically).

After shovelling down some slightly singed toast - courtesy of a girl he assumed was Hermione but who had barely lifted her head from an enormous book to say good morning - Draco was unceremoniously dragged from the flat by the ginger boy he now knew was called Ron. And there he stopped. What greeted Draco outside was so far removed from life as he knew it that he couldn’t help but gape at the scene around him in awe.

The road in front the building was gridlocked with countless cars, black taxis and dusty red buses, and blaring horns and shouting voices filled Draco’s ears as he was swept up in the throng of people marching along the pavement. Commuters bumped shoulders with him as they made their way to wherever they were going, and Draco marvelled in the feeling of being anonymous. No one here knew him. His pulse jumped as he realised this was exactly what he had been looking for. Somewhere for him to escape into, to be himself and to set his own path.

The feeling of elation lasted until they arrived at a large shopfront - tasteful writing above the double doors marking it as Ristorante Gustami - where Draco was promptly rushed into a uniform and shoved into the seating area. The next few hours passed in a blur. Draco dashed from table to table, taking orders, delivering drinks, serving food and collecting payments before starting the whole exhausting process from the beginning again.

By the time he made it back to the dishevelled bedroom he had woken up in what felt like days ago, Draco had just enough energy to pull back the duvet before crashing on the threadbare sheets and falling asleep.

/H/D/H/D/

Harry was in full-blown panic mode. His arm was currently trapped in a vice-like grip, courtesy of the slightly scary girl who had swept into his room this morning and then swept out again with Harry in tow, declaring imperiously that they would be late for breakfast if he didn’t get a move on.

After waking up to discover that, no, he was not in his bedroom in the London flat he shared with Ron and Hermione, the girl had barged into his room, taken one look at his appearance and, with a smirk, asked if he was going for the just-shagged look today. Out of habit, Harry had raised a hand to pat down his perpetually messy hair. He gasped when, rather than the rough, thick locks he was expecting, he had encountered soft, silky hair and things had gone downhill from there.

Now, he followed the girl through a grand archway and into a room Harry had never seen the like of in his life. The entire room was panelled in rich, dark wood and the stone floor was smooth as if worn down by hundreds of years’ worth of footsteps. Students of all ages milled around long oak tables that ran down the middle of the room and, at the far end of the room, adults in strange robes – Harry assumed they must be the teachers - sat stoically enjoying their morning tea and coffee.

It all reminded Harry of a story he had read as a child when an unwitting relative had gifted Dudley with a book for his birthday. Rather than read it, Dudley had instead used the book as a weapon and repeatedly thrown it at Harry until he’d grown bored and lumbered off to torment another poor soul. But Harry had devoured the book, reading it in his cupboard until his eyes strained the see the pages. Something about a magic castle and a chosen one, he thought.

The girl sat primly down on one of the long benches bordering the nearest breakfast table and Harry cautiously sat down beside her. She poured two cups of tea and glanced at him from the corner of her eye.

“Are you feeling quite alright?” she asked. “You’re looking a bit peaky this morning.”

“Err,” Harry hesitated. “Yeah, fine, just… you know…” he trailed off.

She turned to face him, concern in her brown eyes as she placed a delicate, manicured hand on his arm. “Draco, you know you can talk to me if there’s something wrong.”

Draco! He now had a name to match the pale, slightly pointed face he had seen in the mirror earlier. Bit of a weird name, if you asked Harry, but probably not that out of the ordinary in a place like this. Harry’s only experience of school had been the grey, concrete comprehensive in Little Whinging that he’d left as soon as he was sixteen. But this was something else.

So, what else did he know about Draco? Well he was around Harry’s age, was obviously posh enough to go to school here and this girl was apparently his friend. Girlfriend? Oh God, Harry thought. What if this girl was Draco’s girlfriend and she expected him to hold her hand and kiss her and then she realised something was wrong because Harry wasn’t acting right?

Looking down at the hand still resting on his arm, Harry asked tactlessly – Harry had never had much tact – “Are you Dra- my girlfriend?”

The girl frowned at him before bursting into laughter.

Harry bristled. It wasn’t that ridiculous a suggestion. After all, from what he could remember the guy looking back at him in the mirror had been reasonably attractive once you got over the chin.

“What’s so funny about that?” Harry asked defensively.

The girl clutched a hand to her chest dramatically as she caught her breath. “Only that you’re as gay as a tap-dancing goose!”

Harry felt a moment of sheer panic before he realised that the girl was talking about Draco, not him.

“Oh, I’m sure our parents would be thrilled,” she continued with a roll of her eyes. “Can you imagine? Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson, taking Wiltshire by storm. But alas,” she sighed theatrically.

Pansy suddenly jumped to her feet. “Anyway, no use crying over split milk. It’s Saturday and I want to do something fun.”

Something fun had turned out to be making the short walk to the local town and spending the day shopping. Never something he had particularly enjoyed – as a child all of his clothes had been hand-me-downs and shopping had been a painful affair of Harry trying not to comment as Dudley attempted to squeeze into clothes three sizes too small for him – Harry actually found himself having a nice time.

Later that day as he got ready for bed, Harry mused that after a day spent being dragged around by Pansy, her arm linked with his, had been the most relaxed and carefree he’d felt in a long time. No worry about if he was going to be able to make his rent that month. No pressure to put a happy face on for customers. No fear that he’d say the wrong thing in front of his friends, and they’d realise- Well, they’d realise that Harry was different from them in a way that he wasn’t keen to examine just yet.

As he sat on the bed – and honestly, who had silk bedsheets – he spotted a notepad and pen on the side table. Before he turned the light off, Harry scrawled a quick note to Draco.

Hi. Do you know what’s going on? Bye, Harry. P.S. Nice sheets

/H/D/H/D/

Draco scrunched his eyes shut in anticipation as he slowly woke up. He took a deep breath trying to figure out if everything was back to normal: soft bedsheets tangled around his legs, the sounds of his classmates getting ready from the other dormitories, the slightly musty smell of old furniture and wood polish. He never thought that he would miss his room, but Draco sighed with relief as he opened his eyes and focused on the familiar surroundings.

Swinging his legs out of bed, Draco noticed something that wasn’t so familiar. On the bedside table, in handwriting that was definitely not his – as if his mother would have permitted that chicken scratch – was a note. Draco’s eyebrows shot up as he realised that Harry had left him a note and then scrunched in annoyance. What the hell was wrong with him? How on earth could he be so nonchalant? Did he not realise that what had happened to them was completely insane?!

Trying to forget about the whole traumatic experience, Draco joined Pansy at the breakfast table.

“Oh, remembered what time breakfast is today, did we?” Pansy asked with a smirk

Draco froze, cup of tea halfway to his mouth. “I beg your pardon?” he asked warily.

“And remembered how to style your own hair, apparently.”

“I assure you,” Draco narrowed his eyes at Pansy, “that I am perfectly capable of looking presentable.”

What the hell had happened yesterday? Biting his lip and weighing up the risks of asking Pansy versus remaining silent, Draco took the plunge.

“You know, I seem to have had the most dreadful night’s sleep and I find myself entirely forgetting what happened yesterday,” he said with mock casualness and examined his fingernails.

Pansy raised an eyebrow sceptically. “Oh, nothing much. You danced around in your underwear, declared your love for Professor Sprout in front of the entire school and then jumped in the lake.”

Draco stared at her, deadpan.

She stuck her tongue out at him and rolled her eyes. “It was a perfectly normal day. We had a lovely time shopping and stopped by that delightful little café for a drink and some cake. I never knew you had such a sweet tooth, Draco, the amount of treacle tart you shovelled down!”

Draco pursed his lips in thought. It seemed like Harry had done a fair enough job of playing along yesterday, treacle tart aside, and, other than a slight hair mishap, had managed to avoid embarrassing Draco too badly. Pushing the thought away, it would never happen again, after all, Draco poured himself another cup of tea and decided to put the whole debacle behind him.

/H/D/H/D/

Harry jolted into consciousness, springing upright in his bed as memories of the previous day spun around in his head. He took in the thin curtains, worn bedsheets and scuffed carpet and slumped in a mixture of relief and disappointment. A part of him, the part that hadn’t been confused and panicked and lost, had actually enjoyed being Draco for the day.

Harry smiled as he remembered the note he had left for Draco. From what he’d seen of Pansy, it wouldn’t surprise him at all if the blond was as just as melodramatic as his friend. It probably wouldn’t happen again, Harry thought. And yet, he wondered if he’d ever see Draco’s reply.

/H/D/H/D/

It happened again a few weeks later. Draco had fallen asleep in his bed, relaxed and looking forward to a weekend of doing absolutely nothing, and was rudely awakened by the sound of car horns from outside his window. Scratch that. From outside _Harry’s_ window. Draco groaned and rubbed his hands over his face.

For a second he contemplated spending the day in bed anyway. The speccy git probably had a shift at his awful job again but that wasn’t Draco’s problem. He crossed his arms resolutely before the guilt crept in. Harry didn’t deserve that. The idiot seemed to have done a passable job of pretending to be Draco the last time so the least Draco could do in return was to not get Harry fired.

With a resigned sigh, Draco got changed and went in search of breakfast. He hesitated at the door of the kitchen. The bushy-haired girl was seated at the table once again, trying valiantly - and failing, Draco might add – to avoid getting toast crumbs over the thick tome she was thumbing through. She looked up and spotted him.

“Good morning, Harry,” she greeted.

“Er, hi…” Draco paused as he tried to remember her name. Something Greek. Helen? Hestia? “…Hermione?” he tried.

The girl smiled in response. Relieved, Draco slid into an empty chair and picked up a piece of toast. As he looked around for the marmalade, Hermione passed him a large white jar. Draco looked at it sceptically. Fluff? What the hell was Fluff? He glanced up at Hermione questioningly but she had turned back to her book, so Draco unscrewed the lid and took a cursory sniff. Urgh! He knew Pansy had said that Harry had a fondness for sweets, but this was tooth decay in a jar! Draco pushed the jar away with the tip of his finger and settled for simple butter.

“So,” Draco tried, feeling that he should probably try to make an effort if he was going to blend in as Harry. “How is… that… going?” He asked lamely, pointing at the book.

Hermione looked up at him with bright eyes as if surprised he’d shown an interest. “Oh! It’s going well, thank you. The LNAT is only a few weeks away but my preparations are nearly complete. I know they say that you don’t really need to know that much about law to pass but I thought, just to be on the safe side,” she finished in a rush.

The LNAT? Draco was impressed. Several of his fellow students at school were taking the very same test for entrance to study law at the country’s top universities. He looked at Hermione with new respect.

“Do you have a preference for which university?” he asked. “Oxford and Cambridge, of course. But Kings College London and University College London are also very respectful establishments.”

Hermione blinked at him in shock. “Um, well I actually prefer London School of Economics. They have some excellent courses on human rights law…” She trailed off.

Draco swore internally. Great job of blending in, idiot, he thought. He realised the real Harry wouldn't know anything about law entrance exams or university rankings. From what he could tell from the lack of textbooks and uniform in the bedroom, Harry had left school at sixteen and worked at the restaurant full time.

“I mean,” Draco tried to rescue the situation, “that sounds great Hermione. Er, do you know if I have work today?”

Hermione smiled at him indulgently and pointed to a shift rota stuck onto the fridge with colourful alphabet magnets. According to this, both Harry and Ron were working the lunch shift today.

At that moment, the ginger oaf in question swung round the kitchen door frame. “Oi, Harry! You ready to head off, mate?”

After another back-breaking shift at the restaurant, serving ungrateful customers and having to listen to Harry’s moron friends wax lyrical about their manager’s skirt, Draco had developed a newfound sympathy for Harry. He grumbled to himself as he shoved open the storage cupboard, ready for this whole day to be over. Draco stopped short at the sight of Cho who was clutching her skirt in panic.

“Are you alright?” Draco asked, concerned.

She gasped as she noticed him and gripped the skirt tighter, as if scared it was going to fall apart.

“Hey, it’s alright,” Draco said calmly as he removed his jacket and passed it to Cho. She wrapped it around her waist gratefully.

“Thanks,” she muttered in embarrassment. “It ripped as I was packing away. I don’t know what to do. I haven’t got a change of clothes and I can’t go out there looking like this.”

Draco didn’t blame her, not with those three lecherous idiots prowling around. Luckily for Cho, Draco’s mother had taught him two very important lessons growing up. The first was to never abandon a lady in need. And the second was how to sew.

Digging out a tiny sewing kit (like one you might find in a cheap Christmas cracker) from an overfull cupboard, Draco proceeded to sew shut the tear in Cho’s skirt.

“It won’t last for long,” he warned, “but it should be long enough for you to get home.” He passed the item back to her with a flourish and left the room so that she could get changed.

Outside, Cho hugged Draco in thanks. Smiling, he remembered what the moron gang had been saying earlier that day - that Harry was Cho’s favourite – and decided to do something nice for Harry. After all, a girlfriend would surely help to spice up Harry’s boring life. Draco left the restaurant that evening with a spring in his step and a date arranged with Cho the following day, the rest of the staff stunned into silence in his wake.

/H/D/H/D/

Harry’s day had been much less eventful than Draco’s. Rather than suffering through his dreaded Sunday lunchtime shift at work, he had instead spent the day relaxing in the grounds of the posh private school, lounging in the sun with Pansy and generally having a lovely time. Before getting into bed that night, he had rolled his eyes at the note left for him by Draco. Just as dramatic as he’d imagined.

_Hi? Hi?! What kind of note is that to leave for someone you’ve just SWITCHED BODIES with? I can assure you that I have no clue what happened to us. I’m glad that you can at least recognise quality bed linen when you see it, even if you are incapable of grasping the insanity of this situation!_

Harry had scrawled a reply that was sure to enrage the blond even more and fell asleep.

/H/D/H/D/

Harry stared at his mobile phone in panic. It seemed that Draco had been busy the previous day if the countless unread messages were anything to go by. His group chat with Ron, Seamus and Dean had exploded with everyone demanding to know how Harry had managed to get a date with Cho. Then he had a text from Cho herself asking if he was free later to grab some lunch. And finally, Harry spotted a note that had obviously been left by the posh boy himself.

_Seeing as I had to run myself ragged AGAIN working with those unbearable morons, I thought I'd at least have a bit of fun with it. Enjoy your date with Cho ;)_

Harry gulped. His stomach churned with... excitement? Yeah, it must be excitement. After all, Cho was beautiful, kind and obviously liked Harry. He'd have to be stupid not to want to go out with her, right?

Dismissing the nausea bubbling inside him as nerves, Harry took a deep breath and replied to Cho's text, arranging to meet her for a coffee that afternoon.

/H/D/H/D/

“Harry!” a friendly voice called out to him as he stepped into the small cafe, the door closing with a jingle behind him and the smell of freshly baked cakes and rich coffee washing over him. Harry turned towards the voice and waved shyly at Cho. He could do this. He could DO this.

“H- hey, h- how are you doing?” Harry stammered in greeting, cringing internally and taking the seat opposite her.

Cho smiled back at him. “I'm good. Made it home in one piece last night thanks to you!”

Harry frowned in confusion before remembering that Draco had been here yesterday. He hoped that the blond hadn't done anything embarrassing. He chuckled uncomfortably and ran a hand through his hair. “Ha, er.. yeah, right.”

After a slightly awkward start in which he forgot all words in his vocabulary except “erm” and “um”, Harry found himself having a nice time with Cho. He picked at the generous slice of treacle tart in front of him as she moaned about her room mate (drinks milk from the carton). She sipped her drink and listened, chin resting in her hand, as Harry talked about living with Ron and Hermione (great so long as you didn't catch Hermione just before an exam). This is no big deal, Harry thought. It's just like hanging out with the guys at work or with Hermione.

The thought stayed with him as he walked Cho to the tube station later. Shouldn't he feel different being on a date? Maybe it was good that Harry felt so comfortable with Cho, but he also didn't feel... well, anything else. No sparks or butterflies or excitement.

Harry switched his attention back to Cho as they approached the station.

“Thanks for the coffee, Harry,” she smiled, placing a hand lightly on his arm. “You're such a lovely guy. I'm so happy that we're friends.”

Harry felt like he should be disappointed at her words. Hadn't he just been turned down? But instead he smiled in relief. Yeah, they were friends, and he was lucky to have someone like Cho who would look out for him.

“Me too, Cho. See you at work tomorrow,” he replied, noticing the flash of relief across her face as she waved and started down the steps.

Harry made it all the way back to the flat and inside his room before he allowed the thoughts that had been trickling through his mind all afternoon to take purchase. Ok, just because your date with Cho didn't go as expected, it doesn't mean anything, Harry reasoned with himself. You just weren't attracted to her like that and that's fine. Although, if Harry was being honest with himself he couldn't remember the last girl he had found attractive in that way.

Furrowing his brow and taking a deep breath, Harry steeled himself. He had also prided himself on being brave. No one without a heavy dose of courage and blind recklessness could have run away from home at 16 and scraped together a new life in the big city, after all. Calling upon that bravery now, Harry faced the feeling that had been hounding him for years. Maybe... he just... didn'tlikegirlsinthatway. He breathed a sigh of relief, like air rushing out of a balloon, and allowed himself a small smile. There, he thought, that wasn't so hard.

The relief was short-lived though. Did that mean he liked guys instead? His heart drummed in his chest, adrenaline fuelled by what-ifs shooting through his bloodstream. He needed to calm down. Maybe there was someone he could speak to first. Someone who had experienced a similar thing and who understood and who would listen to him without the risk of judgement. Harry's eyes widened with realisation. Why didn't he think of it before! He knew someone else, another guy who didn't like girls in that way. Someone who liked guy instead. Not that Harry liked guys in that way... maybe... urgh. That was enough soul searching for one day.

Grinning, Harry pulled out his mobile phone and began typing a note for his body-switching partner, eagerly awaiting the next time the blond would be pulled into Harry's life.

/H/D/H/D/

Hey. Thanks for setting me up with Cho. It was fun hanging out with her. But I think I realised something. I don't think I like girls like that. Wow. There it is. This is my first time telling anyone. Eep! Night, Harry.

_Good morning. Well, thank you for telling me. I'm honoured to be the first to know. I'm not sure if you've heard anything from Pansy, but I'm not too keen either. Goodnight, Draco._

Hey. Yeah, she mentioned something about it. It's why I wanted to tell you in the first place. Not sure how the others would react about me being... whatever. I don't even know. Bye, Harry. P.S. Sorry, I completely bombed your World History test!

_Hello. I see. Well feel free to ask away. I've known I was gay for as long as I can remember. Kind regards, Draco. P.S. Nothing a few strings pulled can't fix._

Hi. Ok. Well I guess how did you know you were into guys and not girls? I definitely don't fancy Cho and don't see Hermione in that way AT ALL. But I don't know if I'm... like you. Harry.

_Good morning. I suppose I first noticed when I found myself looking more at boys rather than girls. After that, it became pretty obvious. I recommend you do a little soul searching. Take a look at some guys and see what you think. Good luck, Draco. P.S. Your hair was getting out of control so I got you a haircut._

Hey. So I followed your advice. Last night there was a big group of guys in the restaurant so I did what you said and... I didn't hate it. Kinda liked it maybe? I'm still not certain. And I'm nowhere near being ready to talk to Ron or Hermione about it all. But thank you. Night, Harry.

_Hello. There's no hurry to figure this stuff out, Harry. I know I said that I've always known but, honestly, it's not done me much good. The only person who knows is Pansy and fuck knows what my parents would do if they ever found out. Best wishes, Draco._

Hey. Won't you have to tell them eventually though? Would they not be ok with it? Night, Harry.

_Hello. Even if I did tell them, and even if they weren't too disgusted to look at me, they'd still expect me to carry on the Malfoy line and marry a girl. Anyway, enough of my sad life, what about you? How do you think your parents will react when you tell them? Yours, Draco._

Hi. What? That's crazy. I've only just figured this shit out and I already know there's no way I could be with a girl. Erm, my parents died when I was a baby. I like to think they'd be ok with it though! I was raised by my aunt and uncle who would definitely NOT be ok with it. Not that I'd ever tell them. Harry.

_Good morning. Yes, well, we'll fight that battle when it comes to it. For now, I'm happy to keep them in ignorant bliss and off my back. Oh, I'm very sorry to hear that. Do you get on with your relatives? Yours, Draco._

Ha, definitely not! They hate me and I can't stand them either. I left as soon as I could. I wish we could speak about this kind of stuff in person. Writing is cool but, I don't know, talking would be better. Harry.

_Dear Harry. Well, why don't we? It's not like we're too far apart. We could meet in the middle one weekend when you're not working. What do you think? Yours, Draco._

Really? Yeah, that would be amazing! I have a Sunday off this coming weekend if you're free. Love, Harry.

/H/D/H/D/

Harry couldn't stop grinning. He'd made plans to meet with Draco this weekend. Actually seeing each other face to face! Not that Harry hadn't seen Draco's face before but, well, never when Draco was actually present.

Butterflies fluttered in his stomach. What would he wear? He jumped up from the bed and hurriedly began pulling clothes from his wardrobe and quickly discarding them on the floor. Too scruffy, hole in the elbow, dirty. Harry sighed. He needed to make a good impression – he knew Draco took very good care of himself and didn't want to look like he wasn't making an effort for their da- meeting.

Harry gulped. What exactly was this? Draco was so easy to talk to and Harry thought about him all the time. They'd talked about everything – his parents, his shitty upbringing, his new life in London. Even things Harry hadn't shared with Ron and Hermione.

Tapping his phone thoughtfully, Harry did something that was both brave and slightly reckless. He typed out a last minute note to Draco on the off chance that they'd switch bodies before this weekend.

As he pressed the save button, his eyes took on a vacant glaze. Huh? What had he been doing? He was... excited for something? For someone? He looked down at the phone in his hand. Yes, he had been leaving a message for someone. But for who? Someone important, Harry knew with certainty. But for the life of him he couldn't remember. As he flicked through the notes on his phone for clues, the text began to blur and wobble, erasing one line at a time until only the most recent note remained.

I think I'm falling for you.

Then that _too_ began to fade, and along with it Harry's memories of the boy who had become so dear to him. Harry was left standing in the middle of his room, clothes strewn over every surface, with a sinking feeling that he was missing something important.

/H/D/H/D/

Draco's hand shook as he lowered his pen to the paper. He could do this. He could be brave. Even if Harry never saw it, Draco would know that he had been brave enough to admit his feelings to himself.

He huffed a laugh under his breath. Bravery had never been Draco's forte – this had to be Harry's influence. Harry, who had risked so much to escape a life that made him miserable and who had chosen Draco to confide in. Draco could hardly believe his luck. Inhaling a deep breath, Draco steeled himself - he could be brave too – and moved the pen in elegant swirls across the paper.

Looking down at his message to Harry, Draco blinked, his grey eyes losing focus. What was he doing? Putting some last touches to his homework? He thumbed through the notes scattered over his desk. The handwriting on them appeared to be a mixture of his own cursive and another, all pointy and scratchy. Draco frowned as he tried to remember who it belonged to but the memory was elusive, lurking just out of reach. As he chased after it, the writing in front of him began to melt, dripping down the page until it was completely illegible and disappearing off the edge of the paper.

Draco gasped. No! He needed those to remember... remember someone. Who? His heart ached even as his thoughts drifted towards the homework due next week. He'd have to spend all weekend working on his World History essay after he'd somehow failed the test earlier that term. Draco sighed and ran his hand across his face, pushing aside the nagging thought that he was forgetting something.

As Draco packed up his bag for the day and went to meet Pansy for breakfast, the last traces of pen on paper trickled away; the words “ _I love you”_ that  Draco had been so determined to write vanishing into nothing.

/H/D/H/D/

_ 4 years later _

Draco scowled as he was shoved, bumped and jostled on the busy London underground carriage. He hated London but this was where the jobs were and a job meant leaving Wiltshire and his parents. It meant independence and finally being able to be himself. So Draco sucked it up, attending interview after interview in the hope of finally being free.

That and, well... He'd had this strange itch for years now telling him to go to London. That something important was there waiting for him. Probably a bunch of bollocks but-

Wait. What was that? The tube stilled as it pulled into the next station, admitting another mob of miserable London commuters into the already suffocatingly full carriage. But there had been a face... Draco frantically scanned the passengers making their way off the platform for whoever had caught his eye. There!

The face in question belonged to a man of middling height with a shock of messy black hair, brown skin and the most atrocious glasses Draco had ever seen. At the sight of the man, the itch that had been Draco's constant companion since he was seventeen flared, causing Draco to gasp.

There was no way the man could have heard Draco – the doors to the carriage had already closed and the hubbub of commuters exiting the platform would have drowned out any noise – but still he turned to look in Draco's direction. As their eyes met, the man's jaw dropped in shock. Draco clutched his chest subconsciously, struck with a certain, undeniable, unquestionable fact. This man – who was gaping back at Draco with an expression of such shock – was what had drawn him to London for all those years.

Draco could tell that the other man could feel it too, this almost magnetic pull, this sense of rightness. The sudden lurch of the carriage as the tube departed the station jerked Draco back to himself. He had to get off the tube. He had to find this man.

He looked around in panic but the tube was already moving, the track underneath squealing as metal moved on metal. He held out a hand, as if with enough willpower he could magically keep the tube in place, but the platform disappeared in a rush along with the man.

At the next station, Draco leapt from the carriage and dashed to the nearest exit. Mentally calculating the fastest way to get back to the previous stop, he manoeuvred around pedestrians and traffic, earning himself several blaring car horns and shouts to watch where he was going. He arrived at the station out of breath, panting as he folded over and rested his hands on his shaking knees, and searched the bustling crowd for the man.

As he waited anxiously, the crowd began to thin out and Draco resigned himself to the fact that he had been too late. His shoulders slumped in disappointment as he began the long walk back to Pansy's Kensington flat. He didn't feel like stuffing himself back onto another tube carriage anyway. Maybe they'd get a curry tonight, he thought in a pathetic attempt to cheer himself up.

Draco turned onto a quiet side street, scuffing his shoes against the pavement. He knew he was being childish but that horrible, lingering feeling of being lost was back and he didn't know what else to do.

He nearly tripped when he spotted someone walking towards him. It was a man with warm brown skin, dark messy hair and terrible glasses. It was the man from the tube station.

Draco could feel his heart galloping in his chest. His hands shook against his sides as they approached one another. The man's eyes – green, so green, how could Draco have forgot eyes so green – met his and Draco gulped.

“Do I- do I know you?” Draco asked, wincing at how croaky his voice sounded.

The man smiled shakily. “You know, I was thinking the same thing.”

Draco smiled back at him, confidence building as his eyes roamed the man's face and felt an overwhelming surge of familiarity. “I'm Draco,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Harry,” the man offered, reaching to shake Draco's outstretched hand.

Their hands touched and Draco felt a shock wave travel up the length of his arm, tingling his skin as it passed and leaving goosebumps in its wake. He heard a surprised gasp and met the man's bewildered stare with one of his own.

“Harry,” Draco rolled the name around on his tongue. “It's lovely to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Harry's tentative smile morphed into a grin and Draco thought that maybe London wasn't so bad after all.

_The End_


End file.
